


If You Try Standing Still, the World Spins on Without You

by Rynfinity



Series: The March of the Damned [27]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sibling Incest, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynfinity/pseuds/Rynfinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Not that I mind,” Loki asks her – and he truly doesn't mind; this is fun! - "but why me?  Isn't this the sort of thing one does with one's <i>girlfriends</i>?"</p><p>She laughs.  "Don't worry," she assures him.  "I know you're a guy, trust me.  It's just-  I just don't trust Thor with artistic decisions."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>This is a direct sequel to <i>Welcome to the Planet of the Grown-ups</i> and will make the most sense read after its predecessors. </p><p>This story takes place in the same AU and timeframe as <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2534894/chapters/5635196">Bonds</a> from <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/series/104813">Out of the Mouths of Babes</a>; unlike the Babes stories, this one is told from Loki's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Loki and Sif get things done.

Sif smiles at him over the rim of her heavy ceramic mug. The corners of her eyes crinkle. A wisp of steam rises off her cocoa, only to disappear into the air between them. Loki smiles back at her and takes a quick sip of his own.

"Not that I mind,” he asks her – and he truly doesn't mind; this is fun! - "but why me? Isn't this the sort of thing one does with one's _girlfriends_?"

She laughs. "Don't worry," she assures him. "I know you're a guy, trust me. It's just- the women I know at work are too traditional, or too young... and Steve has an artist's eye. He may say he won't notice, but he will. I just don't trust Thor with artistic decisions, you know?"

Loki laughs with her. "Very wise," he agrees. Thor would probably outfit her in a burlap sack or something, just to make a point. Okay, that’s not fair, but he still gets where Sif’s coming from. "So,” he says, batting his lashes and grinning, “where do we start?"

They're going _dress shopping_ , among other things. Sif has changed her mind about skipping the fancy clothes entirely, but she's decidedly the antithesis of big, poufy frou-frou. In fact, she doesn't want a bridal gown at all; not even a sleek column. She's aiming somewhere between garden party and cocktails, from what he understands. "I don't want to look slutty either," she had explained a few days ago when they'd first discussed it. "I want to look timeless and gorgeous."

She has all the raw material to work with and then some; Loki isn't the least bit worried.

"What's Steve wearing," he asks her after a few more sips of his own cinnamon-spiked hot chocolate. "Has he decided?"

Sif nods. She taps a couple of fingers against her deep blue mug. "Suit, not tux. Navy, not royal, and Steve's the kind of guy - even if he didn't grow up with all the rest of us in _country club heaven_ \- I trust to know the difference.

Loki looks at her, intently this time. "Gold, then? Not really bright and yellow; more burnished, the color of ceremonial armor." He takes another (bigger) sip while she thinks it over. "How does that sound?"

"Hmm," she hums. "Not what I would have come up with on my own but- yeah, I can see that working nicely."

" _Something blue_ will have to be your lingerie, then," Loki teases.

"You keep your mind where it belongs," she shoots back, setting her still-steaming mug down and waggling her finger at him.

"Thor would look better in red lingerie," Loki muses, to show her where his mind had actually gone. They both laugh, easily.

"Seriously, though," he tells her - again; he'd suggested this last week and she'd said she needed time to think about it - "I know you _never do_ and _swore you wouldn’t_ but I still say you should get your hair highlighted. Subtle dark reds and browns," he explains, "nothing crazy. We're going to be outdoors; if it's sunny you should look nothing short of fabulous, no?"

Sif chews her lip. "Okay," she concedes, finally, "but on one condition: you have to do it too."

Loki pictures himself briefly, his hair streaming out behind him in the wind. Why not? It's only hair. He'd look good, just like she will. "Sure," he says. "Two weeks before, with glaze, so we're not all dry and frizzy."

"You know somebody?" She looks nervous. Surprised that he stepped up to her challenge, probably.

"Not yet," he admits and Sif makes a face. Loki thinks of Dr. Riley and Tyr, and of the girl who gives out the schedules; the three of them have beautifully-done color jobs, all the time. "But never fear; I'll find us the perfect person. I know just who to ask, trust me. Okay," he changes the subject briskly. They're on what should be a fun errand, not a worrisome one. He wants (not just their hair but) this whole experience to be perfect. "We know where to start with our dress hunt, and you've got your _something blue_ covered.” Heh. “Do you have anything in mind for _old_ or _borrowed_?"

Sif picks her mug back up and takes a big gulp of cocoa. "I'm not sure," she tells him. "I do have some of my grandmother's jewelry, but the style isn't at all what I'm envisioning."

He thinks for a moment. Ah! "Thor has - well, _we_ have, but he was the one with a home and a safe and all - some things of Frigga's," Loki says. "Do you want to look through them?"

"Oooh," Sif says, eyes sparkling. Frigga’s taste was always classic and _spot on_. “Thor wouldn't mind?"

"I'll text him," Loki promises, setting his own mug down and digging out his phone, "but I can’t imagine he will. It would please Frigga." He's sure it would, too, especially since it seems neither of her boys will be settling down with a woman after all. Not in this lifetime. That, and it’s really _their_ jewelry anyway.

_Sure_ , his brother texts back, which comes as no surprise.

The next line, though? _Call me when you're home with her and I'll give you the combo_? That one is a shocker.

"All set," Loki tells Sif, making a big show of stuffing his phone back into his pocket to hide the way he's dangerously close to crying. Which is silly. It’s just the combo to the safe. Except it isn’t. Thor actually _trusts_ him. "First things first,” he says as cheerfully as he can. “Let's go find you that dress."

~

Two stores later, they do: a simple one-shouldered gold-bronze silk sheath that looks great on Sif right off the rack and will be flawless once the two of them have paid a visit to the tailor. The next store yields a pair of equally awesome sandals, because Sif is not going to spend her big day with her feet hurting.

"I'll let you handle Operation Underwear on your own," Loki offers as they walk out with their bags, "but if you need some store tips I've got plenty."

Sif grins. She looks tired; they both are. Sentiment takes a lot out of you, apparently. "It had better not be crotchless," she warns him, "or edible."

Loki rolls his eyes and clutches his chest in mock distress. "You wound me," he tells her. "We're classy people, we Odinsons." He takes her hand. "Let's go home," he suggests, tugging gently. "Even after that remark I'll still let you borrow Frigga's jewelry."

~

Thor actually does give Loki the combo. He has to pinch himself, twice, when Sif isn't looking. It's okay that he snuffles a little when he pulls out the deep purple velvet cases, though; even Sif looks a little wet-eyed. As long as they’re both affected, he figures, no one really needs to know the finer points of his reasons.

~

"This is lovely," Sif exclaims, holding her hand out at arm’s length to admire a heavy, sculptural gold band set with sapphires. "You're sure you don't mind?"

Loki wipes his eyes on his wrist. "Not at all," he assures her. "Frigga would love it on you. I'm just- sad. Envious," he clarifies. "I'm sorry."

She studies him for a moment and then throws both arms around him. "Oh, baby," she soothes. "Trust me. Thor loves you more than- more than I think I could love anybody."

_Oh._ Loki sniffles. "You think so?" It's embarrassing to be this needy, not to mention so fucking transparent.

"No," she says, leaning in to kiss his cheek. "I know so."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking is always guaranteed to get Loki in trouble. Too bad he can't stop doing it.

He’s okay at work. He’s even okay in DBT, as much as he ever is. It really isn’t until the walk home that things inside his head really start going.

Sif and Steve are actually getting married. Soon. So soon he can practically taste it, can almost see it out of the corner of his eye.

He has a job now and has for a while; long enough to prove – to himself, to everyone – that he can actually be reliable and dependable and motivated by something other than his next fix.

Or a gun to his head.

His work constitutes an actual, legal, on-the-books job, too. It’s the kind of thing grownups do. Frigga would be proud, if she was still alive to see it.

Sure, his choices still limit him. There are certain things he will never be able to do, regardless of how badly he may want to.

He will never be stable without medication. There’s no guarantee, Loki knows, he’ll even be stable _with_ it. The edge of the precipice will always lie just within reach.

But taken in aggregate he’s pretty- well, _normal_ these days. He’s in a relationship that mostly works, even though it’s _a bit unconventional_. He’s employed (see: job). He’s working out regularly and eating properly. He can cook (for real, not just dumping canned soup into a pot) and clean and take care of animals. He has friends who expect normal friend-type things of him, like companionship and assistance and advice. Most of the time he can deliver. He volunteers, which people tell him counts as giving back to his community.

It should feel good, from what Loki gathers. He should feel proud of himself, of his progress, of how far he’s climbed up out of the gutter. He hasn’t let Odin define him or defeat him. He no longer lets his illness defeat him, either, although it probably does still define him a lot of the time.

Sometimes, in fairness, all of this _does_ feel good. It felt good earlier this afternoon, in fact, when one of his instructors complimented him on it. Right now, though, it just feels- heavy. Terrifying. Everything is changing out from under him – even Loki himself, the one thing that never has – and he can’t even begin to guess what will be left when it’s all done.

_If_ it’s all done. It could just keep doing this forever, until the world is a swirling mess of sticky, nameless nothing.

Officially, Loki bores easily and always brags about loving change. About needing it, because structure chafes at him.

Deep down, though, he has to admit (to himself) that he needs an anchor. If he has that anchor, everything else can whirl around it and he’s never happier. Without it, everything _will_ fly apart and him right along with it.

Amidst all this progress and growth – his, Sif’s, Thor’s, everybody – Loki has lost sight of- of any and every anchor.

Sif will have her own life soon, more than she ever has. She and Steve claim they don’t want kids, but Loki’s heard _that_ before. Pretty soon they’ll have one and he’ll once again be that _bad influence_ no one wants their impressionable little darlings around. Like that night he’d spent at Volstagg’s, back when things were still an everyday shitshow.

Thor has a genuine partner in him now, not a baby brother, a slave, or a ward. Over the course of both their adult lives, Loki knows, his brother has never had (let?) a romantic partnership succeed.

Thor claims that’s because he really wants Loki.

Loki isn’t really Loki anymore.

What if Thor only wants him when he’s broken?

He walks faster and faster, until his thighs burn and the little muscles in the front of his shins are hurting. The more he thinks, the faster he walks and the more he panics. By the time Loki lets himself in to the apartment, his keys jingling and clunking against the door, he’s sweating and disheveled and his face is streaked with tears.

First things first. Grownups, even stressed ones, have responsibilities. “Hi, guys,” he tells Mac and Marci as they meet him in the entryway. Mac hops up on the bench and bats at Loki’s scarf; Marci circles his ankles complaining. He sets _Anxious, Distraught Loki_ back on the mental shelf for a minute and walks – careful not to accidentally kick or step on anyone! – into the kitchen.

_Chicken, turkey, tuna- salmon!_ He grabs a can of salmon cat food and pops its top. “Ah-ah,” he reminds the cat, scooping one hand under Mac’s soft, orange-spotted belly and depositing four pink and orange feet neatly back onto the floor. “The counter is for people. I know you think you’re people,” Loki tells Mac for the gazillionth time, “but you’re wrong.”

The rote stuff is easy. Mash the cat food, set it down. Rinse the fork. Pop open a ginger ale, chug it, burp because no one is here to catch him. Rinse the can. Wipe the counter.

Once that’s all out of the way, though, Loki’s left with nothing to do but think again.

He paces around the apartment, edgy and frantic. He has no idea what he wants.

Eventually his feet lead him out onto the balcony. It’s windy. He leans waaaaaay out over the edge and lets a gust catch his hair.

He could roll right up over the railing like it was half a set of uneven parallel bars… and simply keep on going. He looks down, hair still whipping against his face.

The ground isn’t far enough away. The landing would really fucking hurt.

Loki’s tired of really fucking hurting.

He steps back – two steps, three – until his shoulders and the bony back of his pelvis smack hard against the building’s polished outside wall. He doesn’t even know who he _is_ anymore. He can’t get his head under control.

In the end he slides slowly down down down to sit on his heels, wraps his arms around his knees, and bawls.

That doesn’t help either.

~

Loki’s jarred out of his ugly thoughts by a horrible metal-on-metal screech; he jumps so violently he pulls something. The muscles in his chest wall spasm. “Jesus fuck,” he howls, head whipping around just in time to see _Thor_ coming at him from the end of the lounge chair. “What in the-.“

His brother thuds down to kneel next to him, landing so hard the balcony vibrates. Loki’s arms and legs go every which way as Thor traps him in a hug that’s more like a crushing. His shoulders pull. His arms ache. He can barely breathe. “Thor,” he squeezes out eventually, “you’re hurting me.”

Thor drops him like a hot potato. “Shit, I’m sorry,” he insists, tears welling up. “I was just so-.”

Loki feels another surge of adrenaline. He reaches a shaking hand out and touches his brother’s cheek. “So-? Thor? Did something happen?”

“No,” Thor admits. “I guess it didn’t.”

_Oh._

Well, fuck _that_ noise.

Yes, Loki is well aware Thor’s concerns are justified. Yes, he’s being defensive. So, sue him. “Ah,” he says, coldly. He’s pissed at himself; it’s safer to take it out on his brother. “I get it. You thought I’d hurt myself.”

“I thought-,” Thor says, and then stops and starts again. “Every now and then I- I guess I flash back to- to- you know,” he fumbles. “I come home and things are a little _off_ and- and I panic.” He’s breathing hard, like he’s been running. Maybe he has been. “Okay, yeah,” he admits, “I _was_ afraid you might have hurt yourself.”

_And you were right to be_ , Loki doesn’t say.

“I’m sorry,” Thor tells him. “Sorry for scaring you. Sorry for being an ass and panicking.”

Loki shrugs. He lets his head drop back against the wall, carefully.

Thor shifts to sit on his own feet with a soft grunt.

Loki lets his head roll until he can see his brother.

The way Thor’s sitting is awkward-looking; pain shows as tense lines in his somber face. “I’m an ass,” he repeats, softly. “When I got home and the place was dark, and you didn’t answer… and then the balcony door was open…”

“Right,” Loki says, cutting his brother off. He stands, joints creaking and popping, and takes ahold of the balcony railing. He doesn’t lean over this time, not even a little. “What,” he asks Thor, trying for sarcasm. “You thought I’d flung myself off this thing, in a fit of drama?”

“Maybe not the drama part,” his brother says. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I’m not dead on the sidewalk,” Loki says. “That should count for something.”

Thor clears his throat. “You look like you’ve been crying,” he points out. “I really do want to be sure you’re okay.”

Loki’s tired of talking about _Loki_. He looks at Thor over his shoulder. “Doesn’t that hurt,” he asks, “sitting like that after you plopped down on your knees like a sack of fucking cement? Get up already.”

“Yeah, it does,” Thor admits. He gets up and comes to stand with Loki at the railing, but he sure isn’t making moving around look easy. “It’s a nice night, “ he says, awkwardly, and Loki doesn’t bother with an answer.

~

“So,” Thor asks after a couple of minutes. He slings an arm around Loki’s shoulders, gently this time. “Why were you crying?”

“I- I don’t know,” Loki admits. He doesn’t. “Everything’s changing.”

Thor gives Loki a quick squeeze. “Yeah,” his brother agrees. “But a lot of it is good, you know?”

Loki sags against Thor’s warm _solidness_. “I don’t want to get lost amidst all the changes,” he tells his brother.

“You won’t get lost,” Thor assures him. “Between us, we won’t let you.”

_Okay,_ Loki thinks, _maybe I do still have an anchor_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sif and Loki get their hair done...
> 
> ...and drink, but for once nothing bad happens.

He feels like he's died and gone to heaven. Loki sneaks a peek at Sif, his neck in its cozy towel sliding a little against the ceramic wash sink. If her expression is any indication, she's right there with him.

"Can I keep you," he teases the assistant who’s massaging his scalp. The faint stink of hair dye - and the creepy little surge of flashbacks that came along with it - has long since disappeared beneath the delicious pineapple smell of whatever lush gooiness she’s working into his hair. "I could use this on a- _mmmm_ daily basis, and my partner doesn't quite have what it takes somehow."

Sif laughs from the next chair over. "If I tell him you said that," she reminds him, "he'll use those big hands of his to throttle you."

"Nah," Loki says, laughing with her. They've each downed all but the last couple of sips of a good-sized glass of complimentary champagne and, as a result, all sorts of things (that really aren't) seem funny. "We're past that now. These days he waits until he’s invited."

The kid who's shampooing out Sif's long hair laughs, too. Apparently they are as funny as they feel. That, or they look like good tippers. "Are you two brother and sister," the kid asks as he turns the water back on and starts to rinse.

"Kind of," Sif says, just as Loki chimes in with "it's complicated." They look over at one another as best they can and clink glasses, a little sloppily.

"Well, you're gorgeous enough to be," the kid tells them enthusiastically. "And you both have the nicest hair."

~

Sif isn’t letting anyone take any length off, although she did concede to a quick cleanup of any split ends. Wet and full of conditioner her hair looks as richly black as always; in the sun, though, Loki knows it will be an amazing riot of color. With it cascading down her back, and that perfect dress, she’s going to look like an ancient warrior princess.

Given the choice Loki would prefer NOT to look like a princess, warrior or otherwise. Consequently, when it comes to his own hair, he's going to let the stylist take it up a couple of inches. He's going to wear it straight, in an uncontrived(-looking; there's actually a fair amount of work involved in generating all that _effortlessness_ ) knot, for Sif and Steve's big day. Still, if he's going to spend time getting all this coloring and glazing done he might as well rock his curls for a few weeks afterwards.

Beforehand they’re both – he and Sif – planning on doing a lot of messy updos. They’re saving the full glory to show off to their menfolk when _wedding weekend_ finally arrives.

~

Sif gets four ampules of glaze to Loki's two. They each score another round of lovely kneading, followed by a hot towel wrap Loki finds just this side of painful. "Just relax," the female assistant tells them. "We'll come back and rinse you off in a few minutes."

"Thank you," Sif tells Loki once they're mostly alone, pink and warm in a little bubble of silence that’s worlds away from the hustle and bustle of the cutting stations.

"It's my pleasure," Loki assures her. He switches his (effectively empty) glass to his left hand and reaches out to touch her wrist. "I want your wedding to be perfect, and it's no secret I have more than enough to make up to you. And go ahead and have another while he's cutting my mop," he offers, tapping her glass. “It’s fine; I'm dialing."

He is. They're using the car service, for an evening that’s as little like _girls' night out_ as it possibly can be given the circumstances. The (other) guys are – of all things – out _bowling_.

Sif giggles. "I might," she says. "Steve won't mind, since I'm with you."

Loki snorts. "if that's not the most fucked-up logic I've ever heard," he tells her, dropping to a whisper to curse out of deference to how this is such a nice place, "I don't know what is."

She twists a little in her chair, until they can look one another in the eye. "Steve likes you," she insists. "He thinks you're smart and brave and fascinating. He likes it that we're friends."

_Oh._

"I like him too," Loki assures her. "He's a good person." He smirks. "Plus he’s arguably as good-looking as Thor, if you're into that whole clean-cut thing."

She shrugs. Her gown has slipped some and her bare shoulder squeaks against the vinyl. "I wouldn't have thought I was," she admits, "but he's special."

"And you do like _special_ ," Loki kids. They both snort this time.

~

The salon is nothing short of posh. The front of the house is all leather and wood and gleaming brass, with a big wall of windows overlooking the golf course beyond. The place is on the second story, so it's easy to gaze out across the trees and pretend the parking lot isn't there at all.

As a matter of fact it’s easy enough that Loki and Sif made themselves up a whole little story, earlier, as they sat together waiting for their highlights and color to process.

She’d started it, by mentioning how the trees – finally starting to leaf out after what had been starting to feel (even to Loki, who likes the cold weather) like an interminable winter – arched over one of the fairways like some sort of arboreal cathedral.

The two of them kicked the idea back and forth for half an hour, inventing a whole fantastical culture and seeing their creations through life and death. The champagne had helped, no doubt. Whatever the cause, it had been a good story.

~

“Write me something,” Sif suggests post-rinse as one of the assistants escorts them up front for Loki’s haircut. “For the wedding. A poem, maybe.”

He had shared a few of his poems with her ages ago, back when he was still getting clean and she was stuck babysitting. He’s surprised – and touched – to find his work actually left an impression. “About what,” he asks her. He can’t imagine she wants him regaling Steve and Thor with the Story of the Fairy Golf Course.

“Love,” she says, “or friendship. Both, maybe.” She smiles at him. Her eyes are warm. “Whatever comes to you.”

“What if I’m like Samson,” he asks her, wide-eyed and mock-terrified. “What if they cut my hair and I’m nothing?”

She elbows him in the side. “Then you’ll just have to stand up there in front of us and look pretty.”

The stylist smiles and scrunches Loki’s hair with a fresh towel. “That, I’m sure he can do.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The B&B is more fun than Loki expected.
> 
> Yes, he's a little selfish, but it doesn't hurt anything.

The drive passes in a haze that’s half drowsy near-sleep and half daydreaming. As hard as he’d tried not to, Loki had found himself unable to stop tossing and turning for most of last night. Even though everything had been ready – suits professionally pressed; bags packed and set by the door, all set to go down to the car with them _first thing_ in the morning; cat supplies and instructions all packed up in a Marci-proof storage bin for Keisha – he just hadn’t been able to shake the frantic feeling they’d missed something crucial. True to form, too, reminding himself that he’s _always like that_ had worked exactly as well as it ever does.

In other words: not at all.

Consequently Loki had made sure to take the most sedating of his medications right before he and Thor had left the apartment.

He’d hoped to nap for most of the trip, both because he needed (needs!) the rest and because riding in the car for hours tends to leave him edgy and rattled. It hadn’t ended up working out that way (either way). Still, the in-between stupor actually hadn’t been half-bad.

Especially because Thor had kept a warm grip on Loki’s knee whenever _both hands on the wheel_ wasn’t strictly necessary, leaving him plenty of time to enjoy big, warm fingers cupping the inside of his leg and a thumb tracking slow circles around his kneecap.

It’s peaceful. Lovely.

~

“You awake, baby,” his brother says softly, and maybe he finally wasn’t. The car bumps a little. “You should see this.”

“Mmph.” Loki grunts and shifts to sit up straighter. He blinks a few times and rubs his nose. “Oh, wow,” he breathes as the Bed & Breakfast – more of a country inn, probably – swims into focus. “It’s gorgeous.”

It is, too. There really isn’t any other word for it. The main house is impressive enough on its own… an imposing stone manor that wouldn’t look out of place in the pictures he’s seen of rural Scotland… but it’s the setting that really makes it somehow. The house itself is flanked by mature woods on one side and a shingled addition (which, surprisingly, manages to fit in with the overall look of the place without coming across as overdone or _remuddled_ ) on the other.

The drive runs uphill in a long, serpentine curve; the place sits on a bit of a knoll and, from the pictures online, the grounds drop away behind it in a gentle, rolling slope below a series of decks and patios,

The wedding is going to be back there, weather permitting. Before any nuptials, though, comes (dinner and) bed, and then breakfast. The two things are right in the name; Loki figures he would be remiss to shortchange either one of them.

“I could get used to living here,” Thor says. Loki knows he could too. It looks to be the kind of place a family like- like Odin’s should have lived for generations, with peacocks on the lawns and a kindly-but-stern old butler no one is quite sure hasn’t died and been reincarnated. Repeatedly.

“It looks like the set of an X-Men movie,” Loki points out. “We could found a school. Or an insane asylum,” he kids.

Thor takes his comment in the spirit in which it was intended and smiles.

~

They’re the first ones to arrive by a few minutes, which is perfect. It gives them time to explore a little. Well, okay, they explore the stone path from where they’ve parked along the sweeping drive to the front door… and then the inside of their own bedroom – but that’s plenty enough to keep them busy.

Loki’d let Thor pick their room. The only thing he’d asked was that they give Sif and Steve the (aptly named, from the description) Renaissance Suite; after that, he’d stayed out of the website and let his brother surprise him. All in all, he has to admit, Thor did very well.

It’s a lovely space, something right out of ancient, royal Persia. Loki takes a quick, happy look around. Everything smells wonderful, too; a rich mix of spice and leather. He’s torn between the corner tower – it’s a veritable nest of jewel-toned pillows, against tall windows that look out over the grounds - and the lush bed that’s, well, a veritable _nest_. It’s a close, close call. The bed wins.

“This is _so_ comfortable,” Loki tells Thor. He shuts his eyes and wriggles, sinking deep into the bedding. “Mm. You go help the two of them get married. I’ll just be lying here.”

“No, you have to appear in person to sign,” Thor points out. He’s laughing. He sounds as happy as Loki feels, which is a pleasant change from how tense they’ve both been recently.

“So, get a notary,” Loki quips. The bedding is so silky, cool and slick against his skin. It would make very nice harem pants. “I’ll sign here in this wonderful bed and your notary will make it official.” He rolls facedown and burrows into the quilts. “Seriously,” he warns his brother, “I may never leave this bed again.”

~

Rather than bothering to answer Thor wanders over, footsteps echoing, to look at the bathroom. His reaction – an audible gasp, loud enough to hear even through the thick nest of bedding – pulls Loki back out of bed and across the room to peek over Thor’s shoulder.

“Oh, wow,” Loki says quietly. The bathroom is a palace in its own right. He’s lived in smaller rooms, and not just when institutionalized. “This is gorgeous,” he tells his brother. It is. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen this much tile and bronze and shiny black lacquer all in one place before, even in movies. “I take back what I said about spending the rest of my life in the bed. I can definitely make room in my schedule to bathe, too.”

“I hope so,” Thor tells him, “because this tub” – it’s a whirlpool almost big enough to float the car in, from what he can see of it – “would be terribly lonely without you.”

Loki scoots between his brother and the doorframe to get a better look. “Holy shit,” he says, admiring both the tub itself and the oils and towels that surround it. “Oh yes, I will definitely be making time for that. And this.” He picks up a heavy glass bottle overlaid with delicate filigree and filled with honey-colored oil.

The stopper slides out easily. He takes a tentative sniff. “Mmm.” It smells like cookies, in a good way. Loki can hardly wait to put it _everywhere_.

“Somehow I’m not thinking you mean _for a backrub_ ,” Thor kids him.

Because great minds yet again think alike.

“Well, we _could_ use it for that,” Loki purrs, carefully setting the bottle back where he’d found it along the dark, polished edge of the tub. “But it seems like a bit of a waste, don’t you think?”

Thor coughs. Loki can hear his brother shifting in the doorway. “Before we, um, get too comfortable in here,” Thor suggests, “let’s go exploring. And, you know, say hi to the happy couple.”

Loki groans “Oh, I suppose,” he complains, mostly joking, “If we _have_ to. Kidding, kidding,” he assures his glowering brother. “I know why we’re here, I promise. But if this is what _vacation_ is like,” he adds as he backs out underneath Thor’s arm, “I think we need to take more of them.” He plants a loud smooch on his brother’s side. The stress leading up to the trip was worth it, for this. “Yes,” Loki exclaims, “let’s go exploring. We can fuck later.”

_And how_.

Everything about the place is too good to pass up; between the bed and the tub (or both, maybe) and Thor, Loki is 100% certain they will.

For now, though, he supposes he can share his brother. At least for a little while.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki and Thor try the thing. It's a successful failure.

Dinner is good all around. The food is delicious, better than anything they make at home (which is saying something; the two of them may not be professionals, but they’ve certainly learned how to best cater to their own preferences over time) and carries the added bonus of someone else's having to deal with the dishes. Everyone eats vegetarian, even Thor, out of deference to the fact that this weekend belongs to Sif. _The sweet part_ , Loki thinks as he practically purrs his way through yet another tender, smoky pumpkin ravioli that would almost put their favorite Polish place to shame, _is that Steve's the first person in line to give it to her._

Steve's an easy man to please, Loki knows. All the guy wants is to see the love of his life happy. It isn't a sacrifice in Steve’s mind, either; it's a boon. Unlike Thor, Sif is lucky.

The champagne - as expensive as the rooms, but Thor has made certain the soon-to-be-newlyweds have no reason to know that - loosens everyone up a little. Loki puts in his two cents here and there, joking and smiling often enough to blend in with the rest of them. Mostly, though, he sits back and watches happiness do its magic.

Sif and Steve are strong people. They're whole and healthy, good on their own and yet better together. Loki wishes he could give that sort of relationship to… be that sort of person _for_ … his brother; quiet, strong, well. No bottomless pits or emotional quicksand anywhere.

Then again, Thor has had more than one chance at that - with Sif, even - and has always thrown the opportunities away. Loki isn't sure what to make of- of any of it.

So he eats and he sips and he smiles and he nods... and he watches and thinks about how lucky they are – how lucky _he_ is – that there are mentally healthy people out in the world to stick the rest of them together.

He doesn't want to hurt himself, exactly, or to die. Loki just wishes he could wipe away the dirty grey film that coats everything about him. He stains everything he touches. Even Thor.

Eventually, though, the food and the alcohol leave him warm and kind of sleepy. Which is decidedly better.

He coasts along in a bit of a daze until the rest of them are yawning.

Just about the time the last bit of the energy drains out of Thor, Loki gets a second wind.

That, and an idea.

~

The golden oil feels (and tastes, because he can’t resist a tiny test) as perfect as it smells. Loki lights the candles in two heavy glass-and-brass lanterns and then he and Thor take turns helping one another undress. He coaxes his brother up onto the bed and pours a generous puddle of the almond-cookie-scented stuff in the lovely valley between the long ridges of muscle that run alongside Thor's spine. He nudges his brother's calves apart slowly, slowly and works his own way up to kneel between Thor's thighs.

And then he carefully and methodically, kneeling up and stretching to reach shoulder level and sitting back onto his own heels to stroke back down through the soft hair along the backs of his brother's legs, works almost every knot (all but one, actually… and, yes, he _is_ still counting) out of Thor's beautiful, muscled body.

Loki plans the massage so it ends just below where it began; the firm curves of his brother's rump. At first he only kneads skin and muscle, the same way he has everywhere else. It isn't until Thor is a softly humming lump of butter, warm and slick and malleable, that Loki adds more oil and chances running two fingers up and down from tailbone to wrinkled, goosebumpy scrotum and back again.

The first time, Thor flinches and squeaks. "You okay," Loki whispers. His brother nods. For a good solid three minutes - he watches the time tick slowly past on the big antique clock atop the dresser - he can feel Thor's thighs stiffen and twitch with each slide. Up, down. Gentle, caring.

Gradually Thor relaxes again. For the longest time he lies perfectly limp, as though he is sleeping, with only his quickened breathing giving him away.

Loki is in no hurry. They'd turned in on morning-person-Steve's schedule, meaning they have all the time in the world.

The only thing they'd promised Sif was that they would keep the noise down. Which is, he knows, all the more reason to go at this with endless patience.

That, and Loki is pragmatic. If he blows this now, he may well never get a second chance to try and make it better.

He waits until his brother is panting and squirming before he abandons the up-and-down strokes and lightly, lightly rubs the pad of one finger around and around Thor's anus. And then he waits some more - past when the bucking starts, to the point where Thor's actually pleading - before (adding still more oil, and) carefully pushing a finger in.

Thor huffs out a funny little noise that could be pleasure or pain. “Still okay,” Loki asks quickly. “I only want this to be good for you,” he promises. “If you want to stop I will.”

“Sto-o-op,” his brother pants out, and Loki freezes. “No,” Thor breathes, laughing shakily. “I meant _stop talking_.”

_Oh. Huh._

“So, keep going?”

“Mm.” Thor hums. “And shh.”

Loki works his finger slowly in and out until his brother is completely relaxed once more, _everywhere_. After he finally feels safe adding a second slippery, oil-glazed finger, he curls down over Thor’s back and lavishes kisses everywhere he can reach. To keep himself from succumbing to the urge to move faster, he gently kisses the entire solar system – even Saturn’s rings and the Milky Way’s wide, sparkling path – across the broad sweep of his brother’s ribs.

Thor’s skin tastes like almonds. In the flickering light of the closer lantern Loki can see tiny beads of sweat along his brother’s backbone and up the rounded spines of Thor’s vertebrae. He takes the balance of his weight on his free hand, fingers tangled in the deep terrycloth pile of the bath sheets they’d spread out to protect the silk bedding, and stretches to nuzzle the back of his brother’s neck. _I love you_ , he mouths silently into Thor’s hair. _You’re all I’ve ever wanted_.

~

In the end they don’t quite _fuck_ , exactly.

Okay, it would legally qualify. But this isn’t a courtroom.

When Loki has three fingers in his brother and Thor is a boneless heap on the bed, they do manage to spoon a little.

Thor asks – no, begs - for it and Loki does his best to comply, but he’s nervous and his brother struggles with the logistics and they end up giving up before Loki is even halfway in. And then to prove that it’s _fine_ he rolls Thor over and kisses his brother breathless while he jacks them both off together with the cleaner of his two slippery hands.

~

“Sorry,” Thor says afterwards, when they’re wiped off and nestled sleepily together in bed. “I guess I’m not very good at that.”

Loki kisses his brother’s cheek. “You were fine,” he assures Thor. “Better than fine. It was nice.”

Thor sighs. “But you _hate_ nice,” he protests.

“Not always,” Loki says. “Believe it or not, sometimes I actually love it.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki and his brain do battle. Loki wins, but it's a close call.

Loki lies curled up around Thor like a skinny, slightly sticky octopus until his brother's breathing evens out and fades into gentle snores. Once he's certain Thor is thoroughly asleep, collapsed in a heap of lax muscles and dead-weight limbs, Loki carefully disentangles himself and rolls flat onto his back. Over to the side where no one had been lying the sheets are cool against his skin.

He's too wound-up - mentally, more than physically; his body is quite tired, in a well-used sort of way - to sleep. The champagne has long since worn off, and with it the afterglow of his orgasm. There's nothing left now to stand guard between Loki and his demons.

_No one wants you here_ , they say. _Inviting you was just a ploy to get Thor to participate, since it’s no secret he wouldn't leave you home alone. Not after everything that's happened_.

He tries to argue, pointing out to his monster-self that Thor's business trip had gone fine, but it's all to no avail. _He would worry_ , his mind counters. _They all would. What fun is going away to get married if you spend the whole time panicking over how this might be the day Loki finally gets it right_?

"Gets it _wrong_ ," he whispers near-silently into the comforter. "Thor loves me."

_Nobody loves you_ , his unhelpful brain reminds him. _You're a duty and a burden_.

Loki rolls slowly onto his side, back to Thor and face towards the wall a few feet away. The shadows shift and flicker in the pale moonlight. He remembers how, as a child, he used to think that meant the room was on fire. How no one was coming to save him. How everyone wanted him gone anyway.

_Ugh_. He needs very badly to get up and pace, but the risk of waking Thor is too great. The last thing anyone needs this time of night is to have to listen to his unhappy whining. Even worse, if he's not careful what he says, he'll get himself committed here… out of state and far from home. That will ruin everything.

He eases over onto his back again with a quiet huff of a sigh. Tries thinking about what they have to do in the morning, but that's no help either; all he can picture is Thor tense and angry over the night's _carnal endeavors_ and Sif and Steve terribly disappointed over how _those Odinsons_ can’t even set their shit aside for half a day and let someone else borrow the spotlight.

Side, back, side. Back. Side, then facedown in the pillows to see how long he can last without breathing. The aftermath of that keeps him busy for a little while, fighting the way his body - desperate for air, hell-bent on saving him from himself - wants to gasp and heave and wake his brother.

He sits on the side of the mattress, legs dangling and heart pounding, and counts the stars he can see out the big window near the foot of the bed. Wonders if it will pour tomorrow, and if that will somehow be his fault for talking Sif into getting her hair colored (so it will look good in the sun).

The wind shifts, smacking a small branch against the windowpane. Thor mutters in his sleep and sprawls across the mattress, taking away the spot where Loki had been lying. Should be lying, except for how he isn't normal.

_Shit_. He didn't bring polish remover. If he fucked up a nail earlier, when he was so busy inspecting the southern reaches of his brother's rectum that he didn't have a thought to spare for tomorrow, his hands are going to be a disgusting mess at the wedding.

It's 2:00 AM. Okay, not tomorrow anymore. Today.

If he keeps this up he's going to have bags under the bags under his puffy red eyes. Sif and Thor will think he's high.

Steve will just worry; he's too sweet and naive to think mean things.

Mean, true things. Things Loki deserves. Things he’s brought upon himself by being weak and selfish. By being sick.

~

He must fall asleep at some point because the clock reads 6:12 AM when he abruptly snores himself awake. He's flat on his back at the very edge of the bed, off the pillows completely, with a parched throat and a very full bladder. The sun is just starting to lighten the eastern edge of the night sky.

Loki eases himself out of bed and pads silently into the bathroom. While he pees he studies the straight razor the innkeepers helpfully supplied and thinks about how different his life - Thor's life - must be from everyone else's. He picks the clean, cold blade up and presses it against the pad of one thumb, just shy of hard enough to break the skin. So close. So far.

Out in the bedroom Thor snort-coughs and mumbles something that sounds like _engine_. Loki sets the razor back down, closes the toilet lid without flushing, and tiptoes back to bed. He lies down as smoothly as he can, careful not to touch or jostle his brother. _Think happy thoughts_ , he orders himself sternly, _and close your eyes._

When he opens them again, it feels like the next instant; literally, like no time has passed at all. In reality, according to the clock, it’s a little more than three hours later. The sky outside the window is bright blue. Thor hovers over him, up on one elbow, and pets his hair. His face. “Hi, sleepyhead,” his brother says softly, smiling at him. “I figured you’d be up and pacing around by now.”

Loki scrunches up his face. “Did I keep you awake?” He’d thought he was being quiet enough; maybe he hadn’t been.

Thor’s forehead wrinkles. “No, I was out cold. Did you have trouble sleeping, baby?”

“Too much thinking,” Loki says, nodding. His hair slides against the pillow. He rubs his eyes. “I’ll be fine,” he assures his brother, realizing a moment too late that he’s just admitted he isn’t okay presently. “I _am_ fine, I mean,” he corrects himself, smiling to (try to) prove it.

He will be, too. Already, his fears seem childish and small in the bright light of morning.

“Good,” Thor says, kissing Loki’s nose and then twisting to sit up. He still looks worried, though.

Loki vows to be as cheerful as possible. He doesn’t need to let one shitty night ruin things for everybody. He can always talk to Dr. Riley when they get home.

~

Once the two of them are up and about _making do_ becomes less difficult. As he watches Thor wince and hobble his way around the place – they barely even _had_ sex, which makes it easily twice as amusing – Loki finds he can’t help but grin.

“Try not to walk like that,” he points out (helpfully!) as he heads into the bathroom to take a long, hot shower. They can’t very well head down to the dining room smelling like _dessert_ , can they? “Not unless you want everyone to know,” he goes on, winking. “And don’t sit down to breakfast like you have something up your ass, either.”

“When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it,” Thor snaps, but he’s kidding too. He can’t even keep a straight face long enough for Loki to walk completely past him.

Loki’s a little surprised to find himself laughing for real too.

~

The enclosed veranda is cozy and bright. Sif hops up to give each of them a quick hug. “Thank you for being quiet and letting us sleep,” she says.

“It was our pleasure, I assure you,” Loki fires back. “Right, Thor?”

His brother grins broadly. “I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.”

Loki snorts.

Everyone laughs, with him rather than at him.

~

“Okay, _now_ I’m getting nervous,” Steve complains as the server lays out an assortment of fresh fruit and rich, dense muesli.

SIf twists in her chair and hugs her soon-to-be-husband. “Me too,” she agrees.

Thor sets his juice glass down. “I won’t say _don’t be_ ,” he tells the two of them, “because how could you not? But in a few hours we’ll be sitting down to dinner again and nothing will have changed.”

“Nothing and everything,” Loki says under his breath, because- well, it’s true. And it’s terrifying.

Steve nods. “Exactly.”

“You’ll be old married people,” Thor tells them. It’s clearly meant as a joke; it falls flat.

They eat in silence, everyone lost in thought.

“See you later,” Sif calls after them as they all head off to get ready.

~

“Do you think we’ll all be able to stay friends,” Loki asks, worried and unable to shake it completely, as his brother closes and latches their door.

“Yeah,” Thor says without hesitation, “I do.”

_I hope you’re right_ , Loki doesn’t tell him. This is supposed to be a happy day, for all of them. In fact, it has to be one.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weddings get real.

They don’t have time for a nap, much as Loki could really use one. He and his brother take turns checking one another’s clothing – adjusting the hang of a jacket or the position of a tie, smoothing a crease here and picking off a stray hair there – and spend what feels like just a few minutes in the bathroom making themselves presentable, after which they look at their phones and realize they’re already due down to the terrace for pictures.

Despite his overnight fears the day is beautiful. It’s a warm spring day, on the heels of a rare week of warm spring days; even the big hardwoods are heavy with buds. The bushes sport bright green baby leaves, and the bulbs – hyacinths, mainly, and daffodils – are blooming. By midsummer a day like this will feel like sweater weather but, after the chill of winter, it’s perfect. It’s just warm enough to be comfortable without being hot. Loki isn’t going to sweat to death, but Sif isn’t going to be purple and shivering either.

~

“Your hair is beautiful,” Thor whispers as they make their way out onto the sunny lawn.

“I got it colored,” Loki admits. “For Siffy.”

His brother smiles. “I know you did,” he says. “Get it colored, I mean. I figured you would tell me when you were ready to tell me.”

Loki can feel his cheeks heat. “I know you like it black,” he says.

Thor reaches out to kiss Loki’s temple. “I like it _Loki_ ,” he corrects. “And this is nice. You sparkle in the sun.”

~

“How are you feeling,” Loki asks his brother quietly. Last night was nice, differently so than anything they’ve ever done previously, and he’s worried that Thor may be having regrets. Not so much because he can’t wait to do it again (although it _is_ something he’s rarely gotten to do to anyone, ever – certainly there are people out there who pay hookers to fuck them, just not hookers that look like Loki – and he wouldn’t at all mind another chance at it)… it’s more that he’s caused enough pain in his life already. He doesn’t want this to be something his brother looks back on sadly.

Especially not in this beautiful place, on this special day.

“Sullied,” Thor says, but he smirks and pulls Loki in for another quick kiss. “Thank you for being so sweet to me,” he adds, not teasing anymore.

Loki wriggles. “We should stop,” he says, shifting out of his brother’s grip. “We’ll make ourselves all wrinkly.”

~

"Look!" Thor points down across the sloping expanse of lawn, towards where Sif and Steve cling together laughing. Loki can’t hear the photographer from here, but her free hand is a blur as she gives the _nearly-weds_ directions. The two of them are beautiful together, glowing and flushed.

"They look so happy," he says, past the lump in his throat. They don’t look trapped; in fact, they have never seemed so free. "I love them to pieces." He does his best to cough quietly. "But I have to admit it,” he adds, “I'm jealous.” It’s stupid, but there you have it: He just is. “Don't tell them," he pleads. "Not today."

Thor steers Loki around until they’re standing face-to-face. "I won't,” he promises. “And I love you." his brother says, firmly. "More than anything." Thor kisses him hard, and then again.

~

"Mr. Odinson?"

Loki gasps against his brother’s hot mouth. They hop apart, both spinning to look at the woman who’s inadvertently interrupted them. "Hi," Thor says, just as the silence starts to feel awkward. "You must be here to officiate.”

"That's me," she says cheerfully, looking around. "What a great spot! I've never been out here."

Loki turns back to his brother as Thor points out across the grass. "Should I round them up for you," his brother asks. "They're just finishing up their pictures."

"No no," she assures Thor, laughing. "It's just us; there's no need to hurry. That’s the beauty of doing it your own way, is it not?" She resettles the strap of her overnight bag on her shoulder.

Thor holds out a hand. "In that case," he offers, "please, let my bring your bag up to your room."

~

Loki and the judge spend a few minutes talking while his brother is off being chivalrous. She teaches undergraduate law courses at a private university an hour or so away, the same school from which one of the shelter interns recently graduated. They swap stories about that, and then Loki’s able to explain that he works in the art program at an exclusive day treatment center. She’s heard of the place, though he doesn’t ask how, and seems genuinely interested as he talks about his job. He’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it, to people acting like he _matters_.

It turns out she’s an amateur painter, in the spare time she says she hasn’t nearly enough of. That, he can talk about forever.

As he warms to his subject Loki’s voice carries; they attract two elderly women, one of whom does charcoal drawing. She’s excited to meet a fellow artist.

Loki isn’t used to being so popular. So normal.

Someone from the kitchen staff sets out fresh lemonade and tiny, buttery squares of shortbread. Just like last night’s dinner, the cookies are sublime.

The inn manager goes around front to meet the string quartet; Loki apologizes when she comes back, as the quartet is meant to be his responsibility. “Don’t be silly,” the manager assures him, smiling. “You were busy. We want our guests to have a wonderful time.”

~

By the time Thor joins them outside, the four musicians are tuned up and have just started playing. The elderly ladies are still talking with the judge, who – as it turns out – also knows the cellist. Sif and Steve have come up the hill to meet everyone, photographer in tow, and are heavily sampling the cookies.

Thor cocks an eyebrow at Loki and nods towards the strings.

"One of the guys at the shelter went to school out here," Loki leans in to whisper into Thor’s hair. "He knows people.” The whole business had involved pulling surprisingly few strings, actually. No pun intended.

“They’re good,” Thor whispers back. “Thank you.”

~

The ladies excuse themselves as the ceremony starts. He almost misses them.

Loki can’t get over how happy Sif looks, and how Steve is crying. One after another the big tears well up and hover in his thick lashes before leaving wet trails down his cheeks.

Steve never really seems like a crier.

~

When it’s his turn to read Loki is surprised to find himself- well, not even nervous. Maybe it’s because he’s exhausted. Whatever; he’ll take it.

~

“ _…of all the many gifts we carry_ ,” Loki finishes, holding a lovely watercolor-illustrated copy of the poem – the painting is Tyr’s contribution, commissioned by Loki - in one hand but speaking from memory, “ _true friendship is the one that matters most._ ”

Sif and Steve applaud, right in the middle of their own ceremony. Loki teeters halfway between proud and horrified.

"That was really nice," Thor whispers as Loki sits back down. "Who's it by?"

Loki curls in on himself, embarrassed, as Sif and Steve continue their vows. "Me," he admits.

"Seriously?" Thor says, too loud. If there were people here to stare, someone would be.

"Shh," Loki admonishes. "Pay attention."

~

“And now you may kiss one another,” the judge tells Sif and Steve. They do.

Everyone cries a little, with the possible exception of the musicians. Loki’s broken little heart blends right in.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the knot is tired, everyone makes the most of one last evening.

The weather holds all afternoon and into early evening. As the sun drops low in the sky the air turns chilly; the musicians say their goodbyes and the officiant heads inside for an early meal. Thor and Steve invite her to dine with the four of them, but she politely declines. She’s brought work to catch up on, she says, and needs to get started on it. Thor catches the hostess and makes sure the meal goes on his and Loki’s tab regardless.

They’ve filled up on hors d’oeuvres, actually, enough to last them a couple of hours; if they’re going to eat as a little group, on their own schedule, there really isn’t any reason to be rushing.

“We have all next week to sleep,” Sif says when Loki asks her if later will be too late.

He hugs her.

The four of them take turns running up to their rooms – one at a time so they won’t get distracted, after Loki licked his lips looking over at Thor a time or two too many – and changing into less dressy clothing. Sif’s black tunic and leggings are perfectly acceptable for the dining room. The guys are a little sloppy, but it’s nothing a sport coat tossed on just in time for dinner won’t fix.

“Wait here, guys,” Thor tells them when they’re all back downstairs. He ducks into the common room and comes back out with an armload of big, wooly blankets. They curl up out on the veranda – Sif and Steve tucked together on the loveseat, Steve with his arm around her shoulders and Sif with her head against his chest; Thor on a chaise with Loki sprawled against his front – to watch the sun set.

It’s beautiful and peaceful, watching the sky slowly turn from blue to orange-red to black. The stars twinkle in the crisp night air. Loki feels like he could lie here forever.

~

Steve’s stomach is the first to give in. “Excuse me,” he exclaims, laughing, as Sif says _down, boy_. “If you two,” he continues, waving a hand in Thor and Loki’s direction, “hadn’t eaten all the appetizers we’d have been able to stay out here that much longer.”

Loki stretches, wriggling just a little more than he ought to against his brother. “That’s okay,” he counters. “I saw the menu when we were getting out of our party clothes; they have risotto.”

Sif groans. “Oh, god. Okay, we won’t sleep all week; we’ll spend the whole time at the gym instead.”

~

“If we were upstairs,” Loki teases, leaning back against the pile of pillows and squinting up at the dimmed, glass-beaded iron chandelier, “this would probably be rocking.”

Sif snorts. “This is under your window seat, not your bed. I don’t think that would be very comfortable.”

“I’m pretty flexible,” Loki says. He’d actually meant _adaptable_ , but he decides not to correct himself. The look on Thor’s face, after all, is far too entertaining. “I think you’d be surprised,” he tells her with an evil grin.

Steve holds up the menu. The paper is beautiful, soft and velvety. “So,” he says brightly and just a little too loudly, “what’s everyone having?”

~

Loki and Sif both choose risotto: mushroom for her; pea, parmesan, and prosciutto for him. Thor gets the most delicious-smelling Welsh rarebit Loki has ever seen (or tasted, because he does, and the combination of rich cheese and rustic house-made grain bread gives his own meal a run for its money… he licks it off his fingers and for once nobody – they’ve all had a taste, you see - gives him any crap whatsoever). Steve picks gnocchi with red sauce. Because he’s the groom, no one breathes a word about how he could get gnocchi anywhere.

That, and he offers each of them a bite. Like everything else on the table, the simple dish is just incredible.

~

After the sampling – and the oohing and ahhing – winds down, the four of them get happily down to eating. The general din barely makes it to where they’re ensconced in their little tower haven; the quiet is broken only by the occasional clink of silverware or the thunk of a tumbler against the heavy wooden table.

It’s about then Loki notices his brother _isn’t all there_ somehow.

Thor is eating right along with the rest of them, sure, but one of his feet is jiggling and his forehead is creased into a frown.

Loki waits until Sif and Steve are distracted, busy swapping bites of food once more, then twists to look his brother in the eye. “You okay,” he asks softly.

Thor takes Loki’s hand and kisses the knuckles; it’s just a light brush of his lips, but even that is enough to send a shiver up Loki’s spine. “Yeah,” Thor says, putting on a smile that doesn’t look entirely real. “It’s just… emotional day, no?”

Sif looks up from her meal. She swallows whatever she’s been chewing and winks at Thor. “Stop it, you two,” she admonishes. “ _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to be whining.”

“Like you ever whine,” Loki tells her. He forces himself to relax, to smile. Thor’s right; it _has been_ an emotional day, powerful and draining. “Honestly,” he tells Steve (honestly!), “you snagged yourself a good one.” He kisses Thor’s cheek and can’t resist fishing a little: “Not like poor Thor here,” he adds, “saddled with me.”

“Oh, I think he made a good choice too,” Steve disagrees. _His_ broad, tired smile looks every bit genuine. He accidentally dislodges one of the many pillows along the curved banquette seating and shoots out a hand to grab it just in time. Like everything else, he makes it look easy. “Thanks, guys,” he tells them both, tucking the pillow back in behind himself. “For all of it. This is- everything about it has been just amazing.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Thor tells Steve as Sif nods. “Welcome to the family.”

In a good way.

~

By the time they get back up to their room Loki has decided he doesn’t really _want_ to know what might be bothering his brother. It’s their last night in this incredible room and, he decides, it would be a dreadful shame to waste it. Life can always go back to sucking in the morning. For now, they have a huge Jacuzzi tub and towel warmers and three or four different lovely oils to enjoy.

~

And enjoy it all they do. They take turns giving each other backrubs that escalate – unsurprisingly – into hot, messy sex. Afterwards they rinse mostly clean in the big shower and go for a splash that’s almost a swim in the tub. They kid around at first, playing with the jets and blowing bubbles like giant preschoolers, but then the oil comes back out. One thing leads to another and it all ends up where it usually does: Thor somehow has Loki arching and screaming.

“But Sif only made me promise to be quiet _last_ night,” he complains afterwards as Thor towels him dry. “They’re married anyway. They should be consummating.”

Thor laughs. He looks far more relaxed now, and that leaves Loki feeling a little better. “I think we did enough consummating for everyone,” Thor says.

Loki hugs him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end of the March of the Damned. As I said at the end of Babes, it's time to leave these characters and let them live their own lives. This is a good leaving off point; things are hopeful and so, so much improved, but we don't really know what will happen. That's what makes it real.
> 
> Again, a huge and heartfelt THANK YOU to everyone who followed this universe from its inception to this point. It's been quite the ride.
> 
> I miss these guys already, and all of their friends.

Morning comes far too early, at least if you ask Loki. Thor doesn't, of course. Not exactly, anyway; his brother does seem to bumble and clunk around a little less loudly than usual. "Why are you up so early," Loki mutters into his pillow. "We told them 9:00, no?"

Thor laughs. He sounds- stiff again, like something's wrong, but maybe it's just that Loki's listening to him through several layers of warm and lovely bedding. That, and no one ever accused Loki of _not_ being paranoid.

"No reason," Thor says; which would be plenty of reason except for how Loki is so fucking sleepy. And cozy. And settled, all nestled into bed. "I was tossing and turning. I don't want to wake you."

"Nice thought, shitty execution," Loki grumbles. His voice rises into a shriek as Thor sneaks a cold hand under the covers and gives his rump a squeeze. "That's it," he huffs, all tangled in the sheets now. "I'm staying in here forever. It's going to cost you a fortune."

"Go back to sleep," his brother says, laughing. "I'll be downstairs."

~

Loki doesn't really doze all the way off, although it’s not for lack of trying. He idles out into that half-awake, half-dead dazed state he gets stuck in every so often, where his body is 99% asleep but his brain is busy hopping uncooperatively from issue to issue and helpfully magnifying each (mostly imaginary to start with) tiny grain of sand into a fucking mountain. Through it all, some part of his mind knows the whole thing is utterly stupid. That doesn’t matter. Witness:

Sif and Steve are going to move away, at which point Thor won’t be able to cope anymore and will dump him.

Steve is going to tire of the endless burden of _Sif's friends_ , aka Loki, and leave her, after which she will never speak to any of them again. Except Thor. She’ll still talk to Thor, just to get at Loki.

He's going to get up and go into the bathroom, only to find Thor has snuck out on him and all their stuff is gone (yes, the bed is between the bathroom and the door).

Someone has broken into their car (because that’s so likely, way out here in the middle of nowhere, security gate and all).

Screw that; someone broke into their apartment and killed the cats.

Keisha forgot to show up and the cats starved to death (in two days)

His brother has a girlfriend but didn't want to tell him beforehand and fuck up the wedding.

Sif is actually poly, and Thor is moving in with them; she and Steve got married as a cover (Steve… right).

The maid left drugs in the bathroom.

Someone slipped him something last night - that's why he's so drowsy - and he's going to be deep in withdrawal any minute... and then Thor will kick his sorry, sick, grimy ass to the curb because he's obviously not trustworthy.

Stupid, all of it, but grossly upsetting just the same.

Loki heaves a huge sigh and flips onto his back. Sure, every last bit of it is baseless and ridiculous; but his heart is thudding along in double time regardless. "There had fucking _better_ be drugs in the bathroom," he tells himself aloud, "because you sure need to get up and take yours before you blow a goddamned gasket."

He sits up and makes himself stretch. The sheets are smooth and cool at the edge of the bed, where he hasn't been lying. Loki scoots his hands around like Mac used to do as a tiny kitten. They should get silk satin sheets for the bed at home. Make every day feel a little bit like vacation. By all that might have been holy in another lifetime, they could use that.

~

The mirror is not particularly forgiving. Loki stares at his face; he looks exactly the way someone who stayed up way too late fucking and then lay around worrying instead of sleeping deserves to look, and no amount of high-end bath products - not his own, not the spa-quality prettiness here – can hope to make a dent in it. "You look like shit," he tells his reflection. "Wear lots of clothing."

They're going to be outside saying their goodbyes. It’s going to be chilly. Loki rummages through the mess that is his suitcase and pulls out a huge, soft sweater with a high cowl and sleeves that reach past his fingers. It isn't Thor's, but it could be, and it hides nearly enough sins.

Including the purple bruise ringed with perfect tooth marks, over the long muscles of his neck, that is at once so hot and so socially unacceptable. For the first time that morning, looking at his neck as he adjusts the sweater, Loki smiles.

~

He wanders back into the bathroom to brush his teeth, in just the sweater.

His hair is kind of hopeless. At least the glaze has left it bouncy and shiny, more towards _sexy bedhead_ than _itinerant nutjob_.

Loki pinches a little color into his pale, pale cheeks, spits toothpaste neatly into the drain, and pads back out into the bedroom to pull some pants on. Tight black jeans, check. Strappy, chunky boots, check.

Intentionally degenerate, at least.

He bends at the hips and flips his hair forward, works his fingers through it, then tosses it back and straightens up.

Better.

~

Sif and Steve are already sitting when he shuffles into the dining room. They grin, welcoming rather than teasing. Siffy nods towards the entryway and Thor leaps up to greet him. As his brother's big arms wrap him in a nice hug, Loki gets a quick look at Thor's face.

His brother looks- happily terrified, which makes about as much sense as all his own half-dreams had.

Goodbyes are hard, even for a little while. Maybe that’s all it is.

"Hi, sleepyhead," Thor greets him. "We got you some cocoa." The mug is huge and warm in his hands.

"Come sit with me," Sif suggests, patting the empty chair beside hers. "We can share waffles."

Once their orders come, that’s exactly what they do. It’s a nice, nice way to spend their last hour together. _Last hour for now_ , he reminds himself. There’s no need to be baselessly maudlin.

~

Loki stands alongside his brother watching as Steve and Sif drive away. The setting reminds him of the inpatient facility in some nebulous way; it’s simultaneously promising and disturbing.

"We don't have to check out until after lunch," Thor points out once the honeymooners are nothing more than a speck on the near horizon. "No one's coming into our room tonight, so the manager said we could stick around a few more hours if we wanted. Do you want to take a walk," he suggests.

Loki isn’t sure what he feels like doing – he isn’t sure what he _feels_ , for that matter - but he nods anyway. It’s not like he has a better idea, and like it or not they can’t stand here forever.

~

The grounds are beautiful, easily as idyllic as the inn and then some. "I'm going to miss this place," Loki tells his brother as they stroll hand-in-hand across the sloping yard and then turn to walk along the edge of the adjacent woodland. He will, even after just a couple of days here. "Maybe we can talk Siffy and Steve into coming back here next year,” he muses. It would be nice to have something like that to look forward to. They could use a little more _nice_ in their lives, probably. “To celebrate, I mean. Do you think they would like that?"

"They might," Thor agrees. "I'm pretty sure they had a good time."

"I know I did," Loki says. He wonders if Sif and Steve are laughing right this moment, or crying. "Do you think it will be nice for them now, knowing they're- _permanent_ ," he asks, angling his head to look at his brother.

Thor stops abruptly, which is- unexpected. Something has changed. "I think so," he says quietly as Loki’s brain struggles to figure out what’s happening. "Hey,” he asks, looking as scared as Loki feels, “do you want to find out?"

"Do I what," Loki asks. Whatever this is, and it can’t be _that_ , it’s fucking terrifying. He can feel the ground sinking away.

The look on Thor’s face is very strange. “Do you want to find out,” he asks again, “if it’s nice to be permanent? Because if you do,” he adds, _and he’s fucking kneeling_ and maybe it _is_ that after all, “I have something for you.”

Loki freezes. His brain is stuck, his body is paralyzed. He can feel himself shaking. How is this even happening? “What are you saying,” he grits out. “Are you- do you- _Thor_ ,” he stammers. His mouth is going, and no one is driving. “What the fuck,” he demands… and he has no idea why he’s even still talking… “is going on?”

Thor holds up a hand. There’s a bright circle of gold and green sparkling between thumb and fingers. _A ring_. “I know we can’t get married but- Loki, will you be my life partner?”

_Holy shit. Holy, holy, holy shit._ Loki panics briefly about his own knees giving out. Maybe he will collapse and die right here at the edge of the woods. Dirt to dirt. He blinks, over and over, and only then realizes his mouth is hanging open.

_Marry me, won’t you? I’m Loki. I’m classy._

“This is for real,” he asks his brother. Sternly, to cover his ridiculous reaction. “You mean it? Because if this is your idea of a joke I will-.”

Thor stops him. “Yes,” his brother insists, squeezing Loki’s fingers. “As much as anything I’ve ever said.”

_Oh my god, oh my god._

It’s really happening. It _did_ happen, just now.

Someone needs to slap him, Loki knows, before he plain old keels over.

“Then yes,” he makes himself say.

There, that wasn’t so hard after all.

Thor slips the ring onto Loki’s finger. It’s warm and heavy and lovely, like a little bit of his brother’s very soul.

~

“You’re going to be- so sorry,” Loki warns Thor a few minutes later when they take a quick break from kissing and bawling.

Thor hugs Loki tightly. “No,” he says flatly, like there’s no room for argument. Not now, not ever. “No, brother, I don’t think so.”

~

Loki keeps sneaking not-so-subtle peeks at the ring as they walk back up to the veranda. He does it inside, too, as they start on their packing. The emerald is huge, and it catches the light. So pretty.

One thing after another, he loads his suitcase.

It’s been one hell of a weekend. Now, though? He’s ready to go home.


End file.
